


Smoke and Spring

by Purplepoctopus



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - High School, Child Abuse, Cigarettes, F/M, Recreational Drug Use, Smoking, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-12
Updated: 2012-03-12
Packaged: 2017-11-01 20:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purplepoctopus/pseuds/Purplepoctopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At Lawrence High, Dean Winchester and Bela Talbot frequent the school's smoking wall. Somehow the two managed to grow to be friends, despite being from two different worlds. Dean's always had a family, at least until his mom died before his eighteenth birthday, while Bela's had the same bad situation since she was a kid. Sometimes, opposites just attract.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Smoke and Spring

**Author's Note:**

> As someone who loves 80's movies, especially John Hughes flicks, I love the idea of a smoking wall. I've romanticized them a bit here, because they're usually pretty nasty places filled with shady characters, but sometimes the smoking holes in school harbor some interesting people. Take the cast from John Green's _Looking for Alaska_ for example. 
> 
> Actually, _Looking for Alaska_ inspired this fic quite a bit. Some of teenage Bela's traits, I drew from Alaska Young's behavior, but obviously, the two characters are not the same at all, and this is not a crossover fic. However, I hope you do enjoy it!

            Dean Winchester was leaning on the wall outside the school, warming up the already toasty Spring day with smoke from his cigarette. He knew he could get himself another detention for smoking on school grounds again, but he didn't give a shit. He was eighteen, it was lunch, and wouldn't the teachers rather him spend his time here than in the Janitor's Closet? He took one last drag on his cigarette and wiped the sweat off of his brow. It was much hotter outside than he had anticipated, but he never made any effort to adapt his clothing to the warmer weather. He'd sooner wear a dress than shorts, and didn't give a shit and a half about being a little hot. He'd deal. Dean stamped out the butt of his cigarette under the heel of his shoe as soon as he heard heels echoing under the archway of the entrance to Lawrence High. What he thought was a teacher turned out to be a girl, hair curled and clothes designer. Bela.

            "You started the fun without me, yeah?" She asked, leaning on the wall next to him. "How did you even manage to do anything without my presence?" She was referring to Dean's unfortunate habit of losing his lighter all the bloody time, which sometimes Bela thought was an excuse to talk to her

            "Cas let me borrow his. He's off in the bushes somewhere." Bela tutted and shook her head. She disapproved of Cas' favorite pastime, but she never said anything. He'd just come back with something about tobacco being worse for you, to which she'd just flip him off. Some people smoked because they enjoyed it, but Bela smoked to die. "But I'd appreciate your assistance at the moment, Bel." Dean added with a small smile.

            Bela couldn't remember exactly when they started becoming friends, but since then, one couldn't function properly without the other, though they would never admit it. She was trying to remember as she lit the cigarette in her mouth before passing the flame to Dean.

            "How's your dad doing?" Bela asked, blowing smoke out into the wind. Dean looked over and shrugged.

            "Been the same I guess. Hasn't really changed since mom died. Yours?" Dean asked with a small smirk, knowing Bela could go on and on for hours about her parents, though she wouldn't.

            "Still a bastard. Still being a monster. Mum's still a drunk, but don't we look pretty in pearls?" Bela rolled her eyes and sucked a ton of smoke in. "One of us has to go. It's me or him." She paused to look at Dean, his expression suddenly very solemn. "It was almost me last night." Dean looked confused as to what she meant, but either way, he was concerned.

            "Fuck. Bel, what the Hell happened?" Dean dropped his cig on the ground to put his hand on her shoulder, but she kept silent. She always did. Dean knew Bela's home life was bad, but she would never share the actual extent. Her cigarette dangled from her lips and she gave a sad chuckle.

            "It doesn't matter, Dean. But even if I were gone, it wouldn't be as if anyone would miss me very much." Dean bit his lip and dropped his hand on her, wiping his sweaty palm on the leg of his jeans. She stepped away and dropped her butt, watching it smolder on the concrete. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it, then opened it again. "You look like a fish, Dean. Are you trying to console me or catch flies?"

            "I want to help you, Bels." He admitted, wishing he hadn't dropped his fucking cig before. She wouldn't tell him anything. Why would she? He didn't even know if she considered him a friend or if he was just someone to talk to while she burned holes in her lungs. She came to his house one time, before his mom died, for dinner. They had lasagna and cherry pie and Bela was so polite, everything, "Yes ma'am," and, "No, sir," in her sexy little accent. She sounded so posh and Dean couldn't help but smile. His mom had liked her. She had liked Bela a lot. Never once did it hit him that Bela had probably never had anything like that before in her life. From what little she said, her mother was always drunk on the couch, and her father drunk and angry, and no matter how hard she tried to hide it, she was always limping or wincing at something. But, he couldn't even give her that kind of night anymore. Now that his mom was gone, he, Sam, and his dad just ordered out and ate in separate rooms. It wasn't the same.

            "It was bad, last night." Bela mumbled to fill the silence.

            "Don't say that," Dean interjected, still back about a minute on the conversation, "that no one would miss you, I mean."

            "Like I said. It was bad last night. My father was drunk and angry and he wouldn't stop!" A tear rolled down her face as the bell rang to dismiss the students from lunch, but neither Dean, nor Bela, nor Cas in the bushes moved. Bela just pulled another cigarette from her purse and lit it, blowing smoke in Dean's face. "But you can't say anything. Like anyone would even believe me anyways. 'You were asking for it,' I've heard. And I'm apparently 'Misinterpreting the situation,' as well. But maybe I need to 'Stop being so bloody dramatic!'" She made air quotes around every saying, and she became increasingly more bitter as she went down the list, sucking harder on her cigarette.

            "Bels."

            "Abby. That's my real name. But call me that and I won't be responsible for what happens to your teeth, Dean Winchester." Bela paused and watched the smoke swirl in the hot air. "I just felt you should know."

            "Bels, you can't stay there, and you can't kill yourself. You need to tell someo--"

            "I can't tell _anyone_. Why do you think I'm here? I tried to tell and he moved us here and ran over my cat!" Dean got quiet again, before knocking the cigarette out of her hand to pull the crying girl to his chest to comfort her. It was way too hot outside for that, but Bela didn't seem to mind.

            "You're my only real friend, Dean Winchester." She sniffled. Dean wasn't sure how to feel, because even though he knew how they stood, he felt as if he had been friendzoned. "Maybe a bit more, but who would want to be with a pariah? A pariah who sucks down cigarettes and cries and--"

            Dean cut her off by pressing a finger to her lips with a gentle "Shhh." He kissed her forehead softly and tilted her chin up so he could look her dead in the eye.

            "Bela Talbot. Don't ever believe that someone wouldn't want you. Especially not a deadbeat like me. You're too good for me, Bels."

            "Well, don't be." She said before going up on her toes to kiss him, soft and desperate. When they finally broke away, Bela looked down at the ground and sighed. "I don't think you're a deadbeat."

            "And I don't think you're a pariah." The late bell rang as they kissed again, lighting another pair of cigarettes.


End file.
